


Naughty or Nice

by Dusty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Discipline, Fluff, M/M, Over the Knee, Silly, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27981921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: Father Christmas wants a word with Crowley and Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	Naughty or Nice

Aziraphale was thinking about Christmas dinner. Then he was thinking about mulled wine. And then he was thinking that it might be time for a mince pie. 

He was happily day dreaming over a cup of tea, with Crowley lurking in the craft section, when there was the unmistakable twinkling sound of a miracle. 

'Crowley, dear,' called Aziraphale, instinctively getting to his feet to intercept what he was sure would be mischief. 'What are you up to?'

'Nothing!' whined the demon. But as they both poked their heads out of their comfortable spaces, they noticed that Santa Claus, dressed in the usual bright red outfit, was standing in the middle of the shop. He was surely a portly white man of about sixty, with a large belly, glasses, and a substantial pearly white beard. 

'How did you get in here?' asked Aziraphale waspishly. 'The doors are locked, and we are most definitely closed.' He turned to Crowley and signalled with one hand that the demon ought really to step back behind a bookshelf. But Crowley wasn't responding. 

The angel was not prepared for the rich confidence of the voice that spoke. 'I’m Father Christmas, Aziraphale. This is... kind of my thing.'

'Hello Santa,' said Crowley politely.

'Hello Santa?' sneered Aziraphale. 'What's gotten into you? This is some man that's got himself into my shop.'

'Angel!' hissed Crowley. 'Don't you know?'

'Know what?'

'Santa. He’s an angel. Pops down for Christmas.'

'What?'

'That's right!' said Santa. 'Not full-time on earth like you. More remote working usually. Except for this time of year.' 

'Well I never,' said Aziraphale. 'But you’re a myth.'

‘Now, now. That’s naughty,’ warned Santa. ‘You should know better than that. Maybe too much time down here has made you doubt the divine.’

Aziraphale wiggled guiltily. ‘Of course not!’ he said, doubtfully. Perhaps he’d just taken it for granted that Santa Claus was a human story. It would explain why there was always something shiny and thrilling under the Christmas tree, but he’d assumed it was a work thing. 

‘Been here every year for centuries now, in one way or another. Not so keen on the current branding, bit gauche, you know?’

‘Oh I must agree. Not very subtle, the red.’

‘Aziraphale,’ whispered Crowley, who was still half hiding in the bookshelves. ‘Don’t insult Santa. He’s got his list.’

The angel looked to Santa, who did indeed have a list. 

‘Now, how many advent calendars do have this year, Aziraphale?’

‘Two,’ lied the angel sweetly. 

He was met with an icy glare. 

‘Chocolate!’ he added quickly. ‘Two chocolate ones. Milk chocolate and white chocolate. And…’

‘And?’

Crowley was grimacing, watching his angel shift from foot to foot.

‘Crowley bought me a mini wine one. Just little tasters, you know. And, er, I have the gin one. There’s also a cheese one, because it goes with the wine. That one’s in the fridge. And then that just leaves the very pretty painted one over there.’

He gestured to a beautiful, glittery picture, all navy and twinkly, with a few of the doors open. 

‘So you have _six_ advent calendars?’ asked Santa. 

Crowley cleared his throat to get his angel's attention, and indicated a large wax pillar candle, with gold lines on it.

‘Oh! And the candle. The advent candle. As you can see, I’m very committed.’

Santa stepped closer. ‘Do you not think that perhaps _seven_ advent calendars is a little overkill?’

‘It’s his favourite time of year!’ interjected Crowley, standing next to a very sheepish Aziraphale.

Santa looked at Crowley over the top of his spectacles. ‘Anthony J Crowley I will deal with you later.’

Crowley stuffed his hands into his pockets with a slump and looked at his feet. ‘Yes, sir.’

Aziraphale frowned. Why would Crowley be afraid of Santa? Does Santa do bad things to demons? He supposed that would make sense. 

‘Now,’ began Santa again, his voice booming. ‘I’m delighted to see you ensconced in seasonal joy, Aziraphale, but I’m not delighted to see your name on my naughty list.’

Aziraphale gasped. ‘I’m not!’ he squealed. ‘I can’t be. I haven’t done anything bad. Have I?’

Crowley grimaced again.

Santa peered over his glasses. ‘Seven advent calendars?’

‘Oh. Well. I got carried away. I suppose I should have donated one. Or two. Or perhaps not bought quite so many.’

Santa was still studying him. ‘And the advent calendar underneath your bed that even your friend here doesn’t know about?’

Crowley’s mouth fell open at the same time as Aziraphale’s eyes widened. 

‘Holy fuck angel,' squeaked Crowley through his teeth. 'You lied to Santa. And you lied to me!’

'Language!' said Santa to Crowley. Then he glowered at the nervous angel. ‘Go and get it,’ he ordered gruffly, and Aziraphale was quick to obey. He darted up the stairs then appeared seconds later holding a large canvas with numbered pockets, and in each pocket was a slice of a different kind of cake. 

Crowley winced and sat down out of the way before he was told to get out of the way. He knew how this went.

Santa held out his hand. ‘Give it to me.’

Aziraphale obeyed again, biting his lip. Santa took the ‘calendar’, and working a miracle, fashioned it into a cake and other baked goods stand which appeared outside on the street, next to an honesty box. People appeared and helped themselves, some leaving money, some not. 

Aziraphale sagged in defeat, watching his cakes go like, well, hot cakes. He hadn’t meant to lie about it. He was just so used to his breakfast cake advent calendar being there when he woke up, that he was taking it for granted. 

Santa took another step towards the guilty angel, and poked him very gently in the tummy. ‘A little over-indulgent don’t you think.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Aziraphale, starting to realise why Crowley had been so humble before. Santa had considerable presence. And he knew he was in trouble with Santa. Just then, the severe face softened. 

‘Nothing wrong with delights and joys, and jubilance, and a good happy belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly, Aziraphale,’ said Santa kindly. ‘But easy does it. And if you’re fibbing to me, and your demon friend, perhaps you're fibbing to yourself, too.’ He looked back at the list.

Aziraphale pouted. 

Santa tutted. ‘I’m not happy with your behaviour this year. You need to be punished.'

Aziraphale's face crumpled, and Crowley frantically tried to think if there was any loophole in which he could miracle Santa away, without later being extradited to the North Pole and made to muck-out the reindeer for a century.

'But we have a choice,' continued Santa. 'You stay on the naughty list and I’ll leave you something memorable, educational, and likely disappointing, on Christmas Day…’

‘Oh, sir!’ protested Aziraphale, realising now he’d miss that present terribly, because it was always wrapped up in the shiniest paper and it was always exactly what he'd like best, and how dreadful that he’d been a greedy angel and ruined Christmas. 

‘Or,’ said Santa. ‘We settle this here and now. You know what happens to angels who fib.’

Crowley was trying to look away, anywhere at all, other than at his friend. He knew all too well what was coming and this was agony. 

‘I can apologise and promise to do better?’ tried Aziraphale.

‘I should hope so, but you’ll stay on the naughty list as your _later_ punishment.’

‘Okay,’ said Aziraphale quietly, trying to be brave, and hoping that when all this was done he'd get to keep all of his advent calendars because he loved them all so much, and really needed a mini gin after all of this. ‘I choose the _now_ punishment.’

‘There’s a good, responsible angel.’ Santa sat down on the sofa and patted his knee. Aziraphale nervously approached.

Crowley watched with interest, curious to see how the two tubbiest people he’d ever met were going to work this out logistically. But just like magical immortals, they made it work, and the Principality Aziraphale was soon successfully upturned over Santa’s lap.

Santa pulled off his glove. The big warm hand came down, smacking Aziraphale’s plump bottom, albeit over his trousers, with a pleasing set of thwacks. 

Crowley flinched on the harder smacks, wondering if more or less padding helped with that. Aziraphale squawked and whimpered, more with the shame than anything else, especially when Santa began to properly tell him off.

‘I think it’s been all too easy to fix things to your liking,’ scolded Santa. ‘Frivolous miracles, outwitting head office, keeping secrets, toying with reality, cheating at Monopoly, telling fibs.’ He continued to spank the angel in his lap. 

'Monopoly?' shouted Crowley. 'That's why you won! You little...'

‘Ouch!’ cried Aziraphale, his voice breaking, and Crowley found himself on his feet.

‘That’s enough! He’s not that naughty. I should know!’

Santa gave Crowley a dark look and landed a stinging swat on the angel’s trouser seat, which heralded the end of the punishment. ‘Go and stand in the corner,’ said Santa gently, and Aziraphale, who was close to tears, scurried into the corner next to the fireplace. The flames were roaring, but they weren't as hot as his bottom. He was determined not to cry like a bratty human child. He'd been greedy, and he _had_ been telling lies. And he _had_ cheated at Monopoly. But at least now he'd still get a present. He scowled into the corner. He was a respectable bookseller to the humans. Now he was reduced to a sobbing cherub. Of course Santa would turn out to be one of those sanctimonious...

'I can hear you,' boomed his voice. Aziraphale stood up straight, shielded his bottom with his hands, and tried not to think about anything at all. 

Crowley couldn't believe the cheek Aziraphale had given Santa Claus. Where did he think the Claus bit came in? Bloody naive angel. Still, he did feel sorry for his snuffling friend. Poor thing only have seven advent calendars now.

Santa cleared his throat to get the demon's attention, and Crowley quickly became alert. 'Now. Demon Crowley. I was most pleasantly surprised to see you on my Nice list.'

‘What?’ said Crowley.

'Good gracious!' said Aziraphale.

'Keep your nose in that corner, Aziraphale,' chided Santa, before turning back to Crowley. ‘Yes. Seems you’ve been good as gold this year.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Crowley!’ cried Aziraphale in horror.

'Language!' warned Santa.

But Crowley had lost all inhibition. ‘I’m not good, I’m not nice! I’m a demon! Those are FOUR LETTER WORDS! I’m… I’ll set fire to your beard!’

‘No you won’t,’ said Santa with a bored sigh. He strolled over to Crowley and kissed him on the head. ‘I do love to see it, when the naughty ones finally settle down.’

‘I haven’t settled down! I’m just getting started. I'll get your reindeer drunk again!’

Santa turned on his heel and fixed the demon with a deadly look. Crowley froze.

‘Do you want to go over my knee?’

‘No,’ mumbled Crowley, hanging his head with a wiggle. 'Sir,' he added quickly.

‘Then, _shush_.’ Santa gestured to the Christmas tree, and several little cast iron Bentley decorations appeared hanging in it. With another wave of his hand, mini bottles of Talisker also adorned the branches.

‘Oh!’ said Crowley brightly, inspecting the tree and thinking he could probably be nice for 20 minutes if he had to be, because it wasn't so bad once you got used to it. ‘That’s more like it!’

Santa smiled, and went to see Aziraphale, who was still obediently facing the corner. 

‘Now, Aziraphale,’ he said warmly, ushering the chastened angel back into the room. ‘You’re on the right list. For now at least.’

Another wave of his hand and a gold and ivory stocking appeared, hanging from the mantle piece. On the other side, the same object in black and silver. 

‘I’m sure neither of you want to find these empty on Christmas morning.’

‘No, sir,’ they chorused. 

‘Good. Now remember. Not all demons are naughty, not all angels are nice. Not everyone notices a good deed and not everyone is punished for a bad deed. But everyone deserves to be treasured. Mostly. Merry Christmas!’

He disappeared. 

‘You all right, angel?’

Aziraphale nodded shyly. To be fair, there was barely so much as a dull ache in his behind now. Perhaps the ghost of a sting. But it had certainly been an ordeal. ‘If he comes back will you set fire to his beard for me?’ he asked sweetly.

‘Of course, angel,' lied Crowley, knowing full well he'd never ever dare. 

The angel's eyes shone with gratitude. Then a sly smile spread across his face. ‘How very _nice_ of you,’ teased Aziraphale. 'Such a _good_ person.'

Crowley took the bait and stood looming in front of his angel. ‘Watch it,’ he said, with what he hoped was a terribly dangerous snarl. ‘I’ll make sure you go back on the naughty list.’

‘Oh no,’ breathed the angel, finding Crowley about as threatening as a pop-up. ‘Whatever will I have to do to get out of that?’

Crowley removed his sunglasses and narrowed the demonic, golden eyes. 'And what was that about Monopoly?' he asked with an unnerving calm.

The angel's confidence fell away. 'Oh,' he said. 'Oh dear. Um. Well....'

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Christmas, kids. Just a little tidbit for the season. Somewhat inspired by a comic strip: 
> 
> https://cliopadra.tumblr.com/post/635779635702120448/its-advent-calendar-purchase-time


End file.
